


Neverending

by Aloof_Introvert



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alcohol, As are "Unicorn and the Wasp" and "Shakespeare Code", Dating, Donna and Martha are referenced, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Song Lyrics, The Master (The End of Time), The Master Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6319618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloof_Introvert/pseuds/Aloof_Introvert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it's like to listen to the neverending drums, from the Master's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twined Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759860) by [The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea/pseuds/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea). 



> This fic is in the same continuity as my work "War Drums," but further along in Ten and Koschei's relationship.

As soon as you wake up, you feel the tension. Theta notices it, too; you catch the way eir brown eyes flash over to you, watch your tapping fingers for just a second. Ey goes back to eir tea.  
Should you be grateful?

one-two-three-four

It grates at your brainstem. You can't carry on a conversation like this: Theta's words, or anyone's words, dissolve into a gray murk. Theta worries. Ey is frustrated. Ey gets your attention as politely as ey can, but you don't overlook the tautness of eir shoulders or the thin-lipped line of eir mouth. Theta smiles when you startle; ey knows ey's gotten your attention, and here comes that haggard grin.  
"Don't panic.  
It's only  
me."

one-two-three-four

You wouldn't admit it, but you guard the drums. On days like these you guard them and fawn over them like a favorite child. Places that foster dull roars-- bars, supermarkets, non-TARDIS places-- become taboo. You find an empty corner of the TARDIS, sit against the wall, and listen to your drums.  
They speak only to you, after all.

one-two-three-four

—What would you do if I died?—


	2. Chapter 2

The drums are at a normal volume, normal for you, and you're acutely aware that this is as good as you'll ever feel. You would capitalize on it, but Theta wants to stay in. You make fun of em, asking if you ought to start eir retirement fund, should I get you a shawl and a cane, come on and let's do something. You see your spiel work its magic: Theta smiles, a knowing grin. You smirk like your head doesn't hurt and feel bad for misleading em.  
In a second, it passes.

One two three four

The headache is constant. It's unpleasant, but more than that it's distracting. It decides when and where you're clever. Sometimes you can focus on the pain and noise, concentrate only on that and the task at hand; you can waltz into a database, hypnotize nations, reverse the scheme of the universe and feel it warp under your feet like plastic in a microwave. Other times, the sound steals your attention forcibly and you can't remember how to make coffee. Once, sitting in a junkyard with your life-force burning you up like a phoenix, you told Theta that it _hurt_... so much noise in your head.  
You pray ey forgot.

One two three four

Theta is sharp. Ey notices your stumble, how you grab your fingers to stop them rapping. And then ey pretends not to notice. Ey turns back to the newspaper, fingertips wrinkling the words, gripping too hard. Back to the lukewarm coffee you brought too late because brewing it was complicated. You're grateful. It sickens you. You don't show either realization. Instead, you perch on the arm of the couch beside em and pretend to watch TV.  
Normal days.

One two three four

—Would you fly out for my funeral?—


	3. Chapter 3

Your headache throbs in time with the drums. These are the days where Theta offers you rest and painkillers.  
You accept both, but take neither.

One two three four

The drums won't let you rest. You stay up and pace, hate the moonlight, pull at your hair, look at yourself in the mirror and bargain with them. Let me sleep, let me sleep! Bargaining, not begging. You know it's only the work of chemical imbalance, a side-effect of exhaustion, but it still humiliates you when you cry. You cry quickly and silently; you barely move.  
A sign of strength.

One two three four

The painkillers do nothing. You take them anyway, because you loathe the look on Theta's face when you refuse them. Ey needs to help you. Ey _needs_ to. If Theta can't help, ey's a failure. You would argue differently, but you don't think Theta would want to discuss it. At least there's something you can shield em from. You take your pills like they're candies.  
Theta relaxes, just slightly.

One two three four

Theta takes you out on a date. Ey's a hopeless romantic; ey only says ey is planning something, it's a surprise, and doesn't say another word until you get there. You conclude that Theta is the most annoying person to be in love with. Ey takes you to a time and place ey once took a ("brilliant, ginger, awfully sassy") friend to: a party in the 1920s. One flash of eir psychic receptor (ey calls it "psychic paper," it's ridiculous) and you're in. Your headache pounds, crashing against your head, intensifies as soon as you walk inside. Theta chatters with human friends, bright and happy. Ey stands with a flute of champagne, regaling them with adventures. You tell em that ey's so social it makes you want to gag, and ey spins around and introduces you as a friend. You drink too much champagne trying to drown the drums, and you're a weepy drunk, so you stay away from the bar after a while. But before then, it's a decent night. You wear a suit. You scowl when Theta drags you into a dance. You wonder what friend ey took here.  
You nod whenever you can't hear em over the pounding in your head.

One two three four

—Get too drunk at my wake—


	4. Chapter 4

Theta is a hopeless romantic. Ey takes you on another date. When you comment on how well ey knows the area, ey mentions offhandedly that ey took one of eir friends here. "Which friend?"  
"Well," ey says. "Oh, you know. Kind, young...  
Too young."

One two three four

Shakespearean times. Theta is in love with the Globe Theater. Ey loudly proclaims that ey would love to live there: ey'd become a squatter, live as a hermit, absolutely, if ey got to live in the Globe. You shove em. The humans taking fare for seats look at your clothes and immediately think royal, so you both get in for free. Ey feels bad. You tell em not to question it, and you like the balcony seat, anyway. You see Theta's favorite play: The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Ey has promised not to mouth along with the actors and actresses, but ey knows all of Hamlet's lines, which you have to admit is impressive, if useless. The language is difficult to decipher-- learning English in the first place was irritating enough-- but it distracts you from the drumming.  
_"Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt,_  
_Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,"_  
laments Hamlet.

One two three four

—Would you make a scene then?—


	5. Chapter 5

One foot in front of the other.

_One Two Three Four_

And again. Use the wall for support.

_One Two Three Four_

You can't hear

_One Two Three Four_

And you can barely see.

_One Two Three Four_

There's Theta. What will you say to em?

_One Two Three Four_

Would you even be able to hear yourself over the banging?

_One Two Three Four_

The pulsing? The ringing? The short sharp drumbeats?

_One Two Three Four_

Eir arms reach out to catch you.

_One Two Three Four_

You fall through the ice.

—Climb in and try to resuscitate me—


	6. Chapter 6

You wake up lying down, with your head facing a long glass window. Hovercars breeze by. There is a green crescent insignia on the wall: the universal symbol for hospital. Theta notices you're awake and buzzes over; it was an acute stress migraine, they said, and you'll be free to go soon. You sit up on your elbows, look up at em, and demand, "Why did you go to all this trouble?"  
"Why wouldn't I?"

One two three four

 _Because I thought it might scare you to see me under the ice_  
_Make you remember you cared for me_  
_What would you do if I died?_  
_Would you fly out for my funeral?_  
_Get too drunk at my wake?_  
_Would you make a scene then?_  
_Climb in and try to resuscitate me?_

One two three four

"I'm not worth it."  
"Yes, you are."

One two three four

The drumming goes on and on and on. But so does Theta. Your Theta, who drinks coffee black and reads human news and buys comic books and talks during movies and invents devices no one needs and tells you you're worth it. Theta goes on.

One two three four

And so do you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics are from La Dispute's "First Reactions After Falling Through the Ice."


End file.
